Poetry

Irish Chains Irish Chains

It is cool—almost fall crisp Strange for a plains July Silent in twilight, I sit Watching shadows cross the yellow spill From the room where mother sews. The quilt she binds is mine. Once it was a scratchy net tutu Later a favorite brown maternity dress Still later my child’s first Easter Coat Love silently expressed In stitches that bind our lives.

Mary DeVries

“Sisters-- Yet Polar Opposites”

Green eyes mirrors of maturity

Blue eyes reflectors of mischief

Tight hugs reserved for family

Open hugs given to a stranger

Tidying rooms, setting the table, learning responsibility

Marking walls, making messes, irresponsible

Questioning, pondering authority and how life operates

Figuring puzzles, constant play, processing mind

Helping people, playing soccer, excelling in academics

Playing, pulling pranks, excelling in creativity

The oldest, dependent on others, yearning to please

The youngest independent, not striving to impress

Our “Princess”, a rare gem, steps carefully forward to shine!

Our “Tootsie”, a bundle of joy, leaps without fear!

Both hands pray together, fight together, and play together Always sisters Cora and Lydia
 * Holly Kimble**

“expressions” blank pages stare thoughts wrapped around a pen

awkward and mechanical a rusty mind awakens

ideas whisper prodding fingertips

words form, transform, empower neglected voice restored and renewed

thoughts unleashed crowd the brain

write- write- write think- think- think

filled pages emotions penned creating expressions of ourselves

//Holly Kimble//

Julie Johnson** Sinewy colossus Too weak to walk, to wash.
 * "Traded Strength"

Relinquishes his jeans, plaid shirt, and boots for frail, cotton cloth.

Never protests, finds power from above, body droops, eyes ever glisten.

Encircled by dear ones, lingering days trudge forward. Laughter erupts from room 179, old films projected, stories exchanged.

Tears well, solidity crumbles, his insides roar to turn earth again.

With fitting equipment and faithful attention farm will be the place he returns.

Physical strength diminished, family love flourishes.

by Melanie Bitler
 * __Dear Papa,__**

Why are you sick? //You have lung cancer.// How come you don’t feel good? //Please, stop smoking.// When can we go for a 4-wheeler ride? //We want to spend time with you.// Can we play ball? //I miss you so much!// When is Mommom coming home? //Happy anniversary.// Can we get some ice cream to eat? //I brought you candy. If you will wake up you can eat it.// How come you are still in bed? //Get well. We need to talk.// Papa, can I crawl up there and sit with you? //I want to hug you, Daddy.// I love you! //I love you!//


 * Raising An Eagle
 * Raising An Eagle
 * Raising An Eagle

By Jeff H. Roper** Tennyson's eagle had fallen like a thunderbolt; Likewise, you were born with a final jolt. Wrapped in a weaved white warm baby towel With your pink stocking cap, you uttered not a vowel. On the first day of school you would not let go of me; I finally said goodbye and you made friends most readily. As you grew older, we took a family trip to Colorado; You ran down the mountain, tumbled, and cried in the shadows. Your mother and I went to your practices and games; Win or lose we were always proud of you just the same. We raised a young Eastern Washington eagle who is impossible to ignore; Now we simply gaze into the Big Sky in order to watch you soar.


 * Author's comments:** I'm responding to my own challenge to take a work and substantially change (morph) it. This was originally a prose piece. I chose to turn it into a poem and have it be applicable to a larger audience.

College Boy

By Jeff H. Roper Five foot ten Twenty-one years old. Reminds me of Housman's "When I Was One and Twenty." "Hello what's up? I'm tired. What time is it? Got up at noon. You are watching Germany vs. Argentina at 2:00, aren't you?" His sandy brown hair is two months overdue for a cut. The long hair has a purpose--it covers his ears which stick out--but only the young man and his parents seem to be aware of this fact. "School sucks. It's hard right now. I've got a 12 page paper due Tuesday. I'll have to work on it all weekend. Finals are next week. It's not easy. I've got too much stress in my life. I'm going to quit my job. I hate it." The young man works for a telemarketing company for five hours a day asking if customers want new features on their voice mail system. They either say "no" or hang up on him. He hates his job. The televised soccer game begins. The boy enjoys the break from school and homework. He gets a mental break from thinking about the job he dreads going to at 5pm. The game is a respite from the spinning world. This young man, with his hopes and dreams, can't wait to graduate from college. Just one more year. The haircut will have to wait.


 * Author's comments:** Responding to a prompt to write a poem with a physical description of a person, then a quote, then physical description, then another quote from the person, info about what he does, and then a concluding thought. Nice prompt.





Jeff H. Roper, South Central Kansas Writing Project: A poem about place.
Oklahoma City. Dodgeball a few decades ago. The boy jumps high, nicknamed "Jumpin' Jeff." Cheap little kid's swing set adorns the backyard. An old jungle gym. Two horseshoe pits. A memosa tree. An apricot tree which would later be split in half by lightning. Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup served with a mother's love. Lemonade, watermelon, and homemade ice cream on the 4th of July. The backyard. The place where all the neighbor kids played ball. A place designed for the freedom to play. Now the old man sits on the stump of that apricot tree. He should have played more. Where did those years go?

By Bonnie K. Lane**
 * MARIAH

Mariah, Mariah, they call the wind Mariah

I call you my gem My inquisitive child You are my first born

I call you my chatterbox My gullible cheerleader You are my peace amidst a storm

I call you Angel My gentle hearted spirit You are my barometer to emotions

I call you Tootlebug My history buff You are my gateway to sanity

I call you ‘Riah My brainiac eager to learn You are my bright light in a dim world

I call you Princess My blue-eyed beauty You are my strength of a mustard seed

I call you Sugar My adventurous soul You are my advocate for Christ

I call you Precious My precocious reader You are my virtuous superstar

"Sacrifice" Flickering light from rippling water does not think that it will hit my eye or that it will reflect for some effect. It does not know which of the ripples will catch it and send it careening into ether, randomly hitting this or that surface to be seen by this or that eye, or not to be seen at all.
 * by Steve Maack

But I must know. I must carry a map, devise a plan, plot a direction.

I do not like to careen, to veer, to improvise.

I think, because I must think it, that the ripples have pattern, that the egret hunts for sport, that the goose migrates to find a better view, that all are conscious masters of their volition, predicting and willing the courses of their lives untouched by chaos, hunger, necessity;

and I think because I must think it, that I control my fate; I choose my destiny. ..

The wind changes direction. The ripples cross, collide, recross, then reverse. Their pattern dissipates into anarchy, turbulent and formless. Resigned, I toss my map and my carefully written and revised plan into unformed space and sacrifice them to the wind and water where they float, twist, divide, and dissolve into nothing.

i see pirates sailing the oceans wide i see superman trying to take flight all because of a child

i feel arms hugging me i feel lovin’s that are just for me all expressed by a child

i hear laughing i hear giggling coming from a child

i see the future of the coming years i see all of the fears through the eyes of a child

i hear i love you and I miss you too endearments from a child

i feel loved i feel blessed all because of a child

all these things are special to me without my boys where would I be


 * --amy morrow

Childhood Game** //Amy Morrow//

Blonde hair, blue-eyed, little girl outside on the farm. Laughter fills the alfalfa dusted air. Count to ten they say as she rushes to find a hiding place amidst the uncut alfalfa. 1-2-3-4 and finally 10. Ready, or not here I come they say. Lying there on carefully planted soil she feels hot, summer wind blow across her face dreaming of floating on a soft, feathery cloud. Life is calm. She is found.

A dad is more than someone who gives your life a start**


 * He is more than a person who leaves a mark on your heart**


 * He is more than someone who watches you as you grow**


 * A dad is more than someone you would like to know**


 * A dad is someone who sacrifices to fill your needs**


 * A dad is someone who leads you by his good deeds**


 * A dad is strong yet he is human too**


 * Sometimes there are things he wished he could undo**


 * Our dad is gone, but we wish that he could know**


 * That we will cherish the good memories and that, we loved him so.**


 * Thank, you Dad! Thank you!**


 * Love your daughters,**
 * Amy, Emily, and Molly**

Tree Bending

Toby tilled the land, Paid his bills, Married a strong woman, Bought groceries, Picked out her dresses, Raised eight sons, (The girls were hers!) And died in his cow lot. The sons became him They plough straight furrows Work long days And are respected. In honor of hot afternoons Working weedy potato patches, They quote Dad’s, “You left one weed” As a credo for their lives While their wives Silently clench their teeth.

Mary

//Holly Kimble //Broken heart, ashamed tears, Words divide, words collide. Heart broken, boiling, Mind enclosed, feeling trapped. Body screams to run, cannot run away. An apology issued, whispered weakly.
 * The Power of Words**

Words hurt, love heals**.**

A daughter’s heart troubled; unable to reclaim hurtful words. A daddy’s heart crushed; angered by careless words. Thoughtless words cannot vanish.

Yet….she is part of his flesh, part of his mind, part of his heart. Miles pass on the blacktop road, silence deafening. A daughter’s green eyes, mirrors of his own break, The floodgate opens, tears stream down the freckled face.

Car door opens, the child laments, “I’m sorry daddy.” Arms wrap around each other, flesh to flesh, heart to heart. Shed tears…forgotten words “I forgive you.”

Words hurt, love heals.

// Rhubarb pie, avon lotion, Fried chicken, noxema cream, Cinnamon rolls, listerine, Home-cooked meals, mixed aromas.
 * Pieces
 * //Holly Kimble

Jeopardy playing, radio on, Running dishwater, clinking plates, Humming music**,** soft voice sings, Familiar hymns, “Old Rugged Cross”.

Blue-green eyes, crinkled smiles, Soft curly hair, steamed rollers, Size six waist, apron adorned frame, Warm hands, knitter of afghans.

Tight hugs squeeze, greeter of strangers, Quick movements, never sits still, Infants rocked, grandkids read, Teenagers fed, birthday cards sent.

Unwavering kindness, unbreakable faith, Giving heart, hospitable hands, Patient ear, nonjudgmental speech, Indecisive at times, adventurous spirit.

Pieces of you, pieces that complete you. Grandma, thank you for giving these pieces To us…

Monopolizing Family Fun //Amy Morrow//

Many hours Of endless fun. No one caring whether Or not they won. Playing this timeless board game with Our three sons. Laughter fills the air on this hot summer night. Young sons, sweet boys, the apples of my eye.

Minnie

Last night she walked my dreams. Minnie with her square dense body Faceless in the night. I smelled the soil and the roses The earthy musk that was her.

I never knew the smiling Danish girl Traveling to meet life on Nebraska plains. Riding sail, rail, and wagon track To a new life, a new vision. Minnie was just old But she was my friend Who ignored my youth, accepted me. We laughed and talked in the dusty dimness Of the house Elmer built his bride And in her jumbled garden of flowers and tares.

Later in newer house with Minnie but no memories I stayed over, protected from damp by flannel sheets Well-fed with sour cream gravy, wilted lettuce, peas. My family moved and daily visits, now impossible, Became rare weekends of chatter and of comfort. College stole my time; death seduced Minnie.

After thirty years, she walks my night, Leaving the scent of soil, roses, musk, And I wonder why she has come and gone.

Mary DeVries

Steve Maack** The ones who prance and mug across the screen every Thursday at 9 could die. Dispatch them noiselessly to oblivion. You can kill them with impunity, cold-blooded, mass execution; Imagine toned, naked bodies strapped to electric chairs wearing electrodes and wired steel caps; or blindfolded before a firing squad, lit cigarettes dangling from pouty, parched lower lips; or lined up on the gallows, hooded and limp with despair, nooses draped over camera-pretty necks and shoulders; all muttering self-indulgent prayers, entreating audience and studio-exec gods to forgive low sweeps-week ratings. You have the power to pull the switch or give the signal by remote. Click. Filling the void left by absence of your murder victims confounds you at first. You wander the house aimless, unnerved by the silence. Pick up the phone, put it back. Play music, but eyes shift restlessly in your head, craving stimulation, drawing attention to your inertia, passivity, boredom.
 * “TV Boiled in Raw Language”

But eventually, you ring a friend, Or one calls you. Silence forces you to listen, And you learn. ..

Laughs, sobs, gasps, and drama emanate from real people, sincere and pained, muddled and tragic, euphoric and beautiful.

After the executions, the screen should remain dark and gray, a reminder of renewed acquaintance with books and letters, glossy magazines and crackling scrolls, pens and key clicks, loose-leaf paper, notebooks, and screens teeming with flashing, morphing words, emotion, intellect, rants, memory, meditation, conviction. ..

Put all these ingredients (and others) in a pot; drop in your TV (unplug it first); stir until the boredom dissipates; then chill until satisfaction hovers over you like the umbrella over a patio table on a sweltering August afternoon as you laugh with close friends or a lover, iced drink sweating through your fingers.

Coffee

Coffee is my drink of choice.

The fragrant aroma floods my nostrils.

The black gold beckons to be savored.

I anticipate the smooth, rich flavor tickling my taste buds.

"It’s not ready yet", you say.

Well, give me a cup of joe.

Dennis Kear

by Bonnie K. Lane
 * "Impressions"**
 * Shea**
 * Gentle Voice**
 * Powerful insight**

Mary Gifted writer Eager learner

Innocent Sweetness Creative genius** Intimidating brilliance Friendly literate**
 * Julie
 * Steve
 * Steve

Active learner Gentle spirit** //Mathematician Wonderful words// //****Amy Outgoing overachiever Inspiration**
 * Amy
 * Melanie
 * Melanie

Holly Perfectionist Friendly critic

Pure heart** Master teacher Comic Relief**
 * Raylin****
 * Quiet exterior
 * Shelley****
 * Shelley****

Joe Nervous apprehension Perseverance

Self-critic**
 * Bonnie
 * Triumphant conqueror**

Powerful leader Student learner**
 * Jeff


 * Dennis**
 * Intelligent, Youthful**
 * Witty professor**
 * (THis poem lost all formating)**


 * No Words
 * Shelley Addis

She sat, lost in a maze of memory and emotion.

She thought, desperate for a meaningful yet distant subject.

She wrote, unsuccessful in every attempt at words.

She listened, immersed in the written expression of others.

She wept, silently celebrating loved ones and grieving loss.

Shelley Addis
 * three**


 * Joel**

He was the first born. First to carry the family name. First for Nana & Papa to love

Always questioning Wanting to learn more Searching for answers He needed to know

Creative entertainer Singing, laughing, playing The Muppets his favorite

Teacher, husband, brother, son He came into his own Discovering his calling and his loves

Tate** He followed in age It would stop there for he was his own Truly unique and loved for it

Always on the move Interests to pursue Cleaning, kilts & flags He needed to know

A love of music Trombone, piano & more Singing, laughing, playing

Pianist, brother, son, friend He comes into his own Following his talent and his love


 * Quinn**

Smallest of the three A smile for us to love that first day Brought home on Halloween

Quiet to others rambunctious at home Wanting us to read She needed to know

Ever the student She watched them and learned Singing, laughing, playing

Sister, daughter, friend As she comes into her own Realizing her talents and her love

Shelley Addis
 * one more**

She came much later In her quiet way she joined us Welcoming this new family
 * Angela

Calmly answering Wanting to learn more Expanding her knowledge She needed to know

Blessed to have her She watched and wondered Singing, laughing, playing

Teacher, wife, sister, daughter She had come into her own Recognizing her talents and her loves

by Bonnie K. Lane Tedious miles to travel Family to embrace
 * "Memories"
 * Dual Voice Poem

Loud, obnoxious brood Music to savor

Pestering children Granny smooches for all

Dirty faces and muddy hands Artistic masterpieces in the making

Scampering and scurrying ruckus Entertaining circus

Cinnamon caked teeth Affectionate smiles

Dirty dishes and meals to cook Tender love to share

Constant annoying questions Eager minds absorb

Weary, stressed, and spent Relishing every moment

Mothers work is never done Grandma’s work has just begun (This poem lost formatting)

=**My buddy, my little boy, my Brennie By Bonnie K. Lane**= Brown hair with sun induced highlights frame his tiny face “Stick ‘em up” he chortles as he dashes into the room Brown eyes speckled with gold flecks, alive with anticipation He slinks into the room and bellows “Gotcha” causing a jolt “It wasn’t me” states an innocent mischievous smile =His button nose sprinkled with freckles= “Huh?” he utters from his preoccupied world The sun kissed skin glistens with sweat “I’m sorry” he breathlessly claims gazing at the floor =His soft, chubby hands are framed with ragged nails= “I love you” a pooped voice whispers softly

(This is not intended to have the bold bigger than life statements. Don't know what happened)

Glistening water Home Peaceful trails Trespasser Nature sings Disruptive chatter Scampering Mouse Supper Poison ivy surrounds Protection from invaders Trees dancing in the wind Shade from the heat Birds chirping Marco Polo Beauty surrounds Home décor Gentle brush of the wind Air-conditioning God’s Glory God’s Glory
 * God's Glory
 * By Bonnie K. Lane

(Lost Formatting)

Grandpa Such a big person, but small in stature Old and wrinkled, yet like a child Memories flood my body.

Eyes twinkle, yet dim with worry Laughter abound, but secretly cry Memories flood my emotion.

Stories told, but secrets kept Memories shared, and regrets forgotten Memories flood my mind.

Never changing, and always the same Loved much, but never told Memories flood my heart.

Selfish feelings, but letting go Loved forever, and never forgotten Memories flood my soul.

Raylin Ledbetter

Poverty I really don’t know what I am talking about In this instance I have no doubt

To not get what I want, I don’t know what it’s like To have never of had any kind of bike

I have no idea what it means To have bare cabinets, no vegetable greens

Or to have bare feet with no shoes I don’t know what that’s like; I have not a clue

No house or clothes is foreign to me I’m so closed off and confused you see

That’s why I am so very sorry That all of my life I’ve never had to worry

While you set up at night awake And dream of help, for God’s sake

I want to help, I truly do But I don’t want to offend any of you

What can I do? What steps do I take? I really want to make peoples’ worlds shake

I want them to get involved and make a difference too So we can all live together, the same, me and you.

Raylin Ledbetter

Under the Old Pecan Tree

Ladder leaning up against a large tree trunk Old feed sack filled with sweet smelling hay Huge rope looped over a branch tying up a bag swing

Trudging up the rickety ladder Leaping onto the bag swing Butterfly filled tummy Breeze tickled face Swinging back and forth

Legs wrapped tightly Hands gripping loosely Leaning back Laughing Smiling Slowly stopping

The enjoyment repeats itself again and again Raylin Ledbetter

"Fortress" Smells of pine trees, fresh outdoors stepping on pinecones and snapping twigs.

Handcrafted fortress rests in woods, twisted sticks shape its walls.

Two miniature bodies crawl inside, guarded by nature’s arms.

UNO cards and candy pieces, entertainment enchantment.

Uninvited, destruction imposes Nature’s breath strong, her tears harsh.

Childhood place crushed, memories live on. -Julie Johnson

Mankind by Joe Conner A gray haired man of retirement age sidles up to me and says "I cannot believe in Evolution." Why I say to him Man didn't come from no Monkey, he replies I say to him "your're right" he came from other men Evolution is a wicked Sister To one whose mind is a twisted mister Too many of us never see The beauty with which we come to be By Gods hand like a ball in flight We come to see and full fill our plight Over hill and dale blindly tossed As if we are in control - not lost It is not his intention with which to share How he created us then and there It is for us to discover him it is written Till death and beyond we shat not have bitten The fruit of happiness we shall never know Until our eyes open and we view the show

Igniting the Fire Shea McGuire Educators who embolden the scholar, masterful pedagogues, Mrs. Williams, her speech tinted with African accentuation while championing persistence in geometry. Mr. Calloway, his boisterous tongue and character outfitted in civil war garb teaching the craft of note taking and the joy of learning. Igniting the spark for the scholar, inspiring her to pass the flame.

Filling buckets, they are not empty, brimmed with knowledge and their experiences. Filling buckets extinguishes the blaze, the scholar desires not. Inferno spreading, engulfing others and inspiring this, the scholar wishes.

It’s Because of you Shea McGuire You are my sunshine and my wishes come true. You are my hero, champion, and encourager too. You make me so happy and set my heart free. You bring so much joy and happiness to me. You have so many great qualities that I love. Surely you were sent from heaven above. It’s your faithfulness, humility, and serving heart too. These are just a few things that I love about you. I thank God for blessing me with wonderful friend. I know that you will stand with me to the very end.